


Dressing Down

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [70]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Lingerie, M/M, aziraphale is a tease, crowley should not find this sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 04:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Crowley has some thoughts on Aziraphale's wardrobe. Aziraphale is looking to change that.





	Dressing Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of a lovely prompt about Aziraphale in vintage lingerie. I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If Crowley was being completely honest - although a demon could never truly be _completely_ honest, just in the vicinity of it – he hated Aziraphale’s wardrobe. It wasn’t that he hated Aziraphale or Aziraphale’s clothes or Aziraphale in the clothes. It was more the concept of Aziraphale’s wardrobe that bothered him. The angel’s wardrobe was home to a lot of items that had barely been stylish at the time they’d been made and most certainly weren’t now. This was in part because Aziraphale preferred to buy his clothes and took good care of them so they could last quite a while, and partly because his style itself changed with the speed of a particularly slow-moving glacier. It infuriated Crowley, who liked to believe the kind of human he pretended to be was modern, sleek, and up to date on all the latest fashion trends. Being seen with someone who wouldn’t have looked entirely out of place in a centuries-old historical painting was bad for that image.

“I don’t see what the trouble is,” Aziraphale had said on more than one occasion. “It’s not as if you’re the one wearing the clothes. And I like the way I dress, so I don’t see any reason to change it.”

And Crowley had to admit, unfashionable or not, what Aziraphale wore suited him. The angel had just enough of a timeless aura that he managed to make out of date things feel vintage when he was wearing them, rather than merely old. So Crowley kept his complaining about Aziraphale’s wardrobe to a minimum. Just enough to keep up appearances.

In light of all that, when Aziraphale asked Crowley over for a bit of assistance with his wardrobe, Crowley was more than happy to oblige. As he made his way up the stairs to Aziraphale’s flat, his head was full of images of things he could potentially entice the angel into wearing. Aziraphale would never go for skinny jeans or leather pants, not even in white or cream print, but Crowley was willing to bet that with a little luck, he could maybe make a convincing argument for something with less layers.

He stepped over the threshold into Aziraphale’s flat. Upon hearing the door close behind Crowley, Aziraphale called “In here!” from the bedroom, and Crowley followed the sound. And then he stopped in the doorway, because apparently when it came to layers or lack thereof, Aziraphale had already gotten the memo. Crowley’s jaw dropped, and he stared.

Aziraphale blushed and ran a self-conscious hand down his side, smoothing out the fabric. “What do you think?” he asked. “I was going through my closet, and I hoped to get your opinion.”

Crowley’s jaw snapped shut. He’d forgotten to blink, but he didn’t let that worry him. It left him free to goggle.

What the angel was wearing was lingerie, although Crowley doubted it would be considered sexy by anyone today. Frankly, he’d been shocked something like that had _ever_ been considered sexy, even when it was the height of fashion. It was held up by thin spaghetti straps, true, and the top was low enough that Crowley could see a good deal of Aziraphale’s chest, but that was about the extent to which the piece could be considered enticing. It wasn’t form-fitting. It hung around Aziraphale’s body in bunches, although it did pull taught in places around his stomach. It wasn’t sheer. The white fabric was thick enough that there was no chance of Crowley glimpsing so much as a peaked nipple. It had bits of fringe hanging off the ends, not sexy fringe that draped seductively around the crotch or tassled the chest, but neat little ties that would have looked as equally at home on a handmade quilt as on a piece of underwear. And least sex-friendly of all, as far as Crowley was concerned, was the fact that the bottom half formed two distinct leg holes with no sign of flaps or other opportunistic openings. The style was called closed-crotch for a reason, after all. It fell to just above Aziraphale’s knees and it was, all in all, one of the least sexy bits of lingerie Crowley had ever encountered.

It was technically “women’s lingerie” by design, but clothing labels like “male” or “female” had never particularly bothered Crowley or Aziraphale, so that was not why Crowley continued to stare, although the equally feminine sheer silk stockings clinging to Aziraphale’s calves were complicating the matter. Crowley was staring because, in spite of his best efforts to be repulsed by such a hideously executed piece of underwear, he was actually finding it rather…alluring.

“Well?” Aziraphale asked, a note of uncertainty sliding into his voice as Crowley remained silent. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

It should have been. Holy Hell, it should have been, but it _wasn’t_. The piece was so infuriatingly _Aziraphale_ that the angel could have been wearing a pinup bikini and wouldn’t have looked half as attractive. It _suited him_ , the bastard, like every other blasted piece of clothing in his closet suited him, and one of these days Crowley was really going to have to swallow his pride and admit that there actually wasn’t anything wrong with what Aziraphale liked wearing because there was nothing really wrong with being unfashionable so long as your style was you.

He opened his mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He managed, “No, it’s…good. It looks good on you.”

Aziraphale beamed. “You really think so?”

“I really do.” Crowley’s throat was thick. He still hadn’t managed to stop staring, although he did gradually pull his wits together enough to blink. “It, er…it’s nice, angel.”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.”

Crowley approved. Crowley very much approved. Crowley approved so much, in fact, that certain parts of him had decided to respond without all that much effort on his part at all. His throat wasn’t the only thing that was starting to feel tight, but there wasn’t a good way to adjust his trousers without attracting attention.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well…I, uh…” He coughed.

Aziraphale tilted his head. A slow smile spread across his lips, and then his eyes traced down Crowley’s body as if the demon was the one wearing something so deliciously and unusually attractive, moving slowly as if to savour the view. It stopped, naturally, on the bulge that was forming at Crowley’s crotch, the fabric tenting further even as Crowley shifted, feeling suddenly like a piece of meat. The angel’s smile broadened, and it took on what in Crowley’s opinion was a decidedly un-angelic edge.

“Oh, my,” he said, with the tone of one who is making a bit of a mockery, but only half means it. “I’d hoped to get you a bit riled up, but I had no idea it would take so little effort.”

“You mean you planned this?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale took a breezy step towards Crowley, who froze to the point of not breathing. “This was the wardrobe matter I was hoping you’d assist me with. It’s been ages since I’ve worn it, after all, and it never really got the mileage it deserved.” He was within touching distance now, and he made the most of it, tapping one exquisitely manicured finger on Crowley’s chest and trailing it down the neat line of buttons on his shirt, down past the buckle of his belt, _down_ to the obvious sign of Crowley’s arousal. Aziraphale stroked that one, feather-light finger over Crowley’s confined erection, and the demon let out an undignified but deeply aroused whimper.

Aziraphale shook his head and clucked, his voice somehow managing to come out both dripping with sex and also rather like a disappointed nanny (which Crowley was not going to examine because that was his role, thank you very much). “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I’ve gotten you into a right state, haven’t I?”

The finger stroked again, still maddeningly brief and light. Crowley throbbed inside his trousers and fought the urge to close his eyes. He couldn’t feel his knees, and he hoped that in the haze he hadn’t forgotten to have them altogether. His voice was breathy and strained. “Angel…”

“Terribly remiss of me. I do hope you’ll forgive my transgression.”

“Please…” Crowley wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was talking about, but he was prepared to forgive anything if it meant getting a bit more pressure on his cock.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said, drawing out the word and blinking up at Crowley from under his eyelashes, “if I rectify the situation, all will be forgiven?”

“Recti-?“

Aziraphale sank to his knees, cupped the bulge in Crowley’s trousers firmly, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the top of it. Crowley let out a startled moan. He nearly toppled backwards, but Aziraphale had grasped the back of one thigh to hold him in place, and one of Crowley’s hands managed to land on a wall to brace himself. Aziraphale’s breath puffed hot and wet against the fabric at his crotch, and Crowley trembled.

The angel hummed, clearly pleased. His hand moved lower, massaging Crowley’s balls through the fabric. It gave his mouth more room to work. Crowley had never gotten a blow job through a pair of trousers – although admittedly he hadn’t received many blow jobs, period, because he hadn’t had that many lovers and he usually preferred Aziraphale’s hands to his mouth – but he doubted any of them would have compared to the mess Aziraphale was making of him, the angel skilfully applying pressure with his lips and tongue. It was soaking through Crowley’s trousers, making them cling to his skin, but he found he didn’t care. It enhanced the friction anyway, and Crowley was desperate for more of that.

His free hand found its way into Aziraphale’s hair, gripping at the curls and tugging. Aziraphale followed it, head tilted back, lips swollen and red. He gave Crowley a coy and faux-worried look. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley hissed. Feeling steady enough for it, he let go of the wall and pressed his heel of his hand against his erection, groaning in relief. “You’re doing everything right.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, as if he didn’t already know, and reached for Crowley’s belt buckle.

Crowley hauled Aziraphale to his feet and kissed him viciously. He bit at Aziraphale’s lips, shoving his tongue half-way down the angel’s throat, and fumbled his own hand between them. He undid his belt manually because it put pressure on his trapped cock, and then unsnapped the button on his trousers too. Unheeded by undergarments of his own – Crowley preferred not to wear any most of the time – his cock forced its way out the top, and Crowley helped it by shoving his trousers halfway down his hips. His cock was achingly hard, purpling at the tip, and when he grasped Aziraphale’s hip and drew them flush a low groan burst from his throat as he rutted against the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s underclothes, leaving wet smears of precum against the white.

Aziraphale gasped into his mouth, and then Crowley was being pushed towards the bed. He stumbled, landing on his back with a thump that knocked the air out of his lungs. He stared at the angel, who moved to straddle him with ease. There were runs in the knees of his stockings, Crowley noted, and he reached for the angel’s thighs, but Aziraphale arched up and away from his touch. Crowley whined, reaching instead for his cock, but Aziraphale grasped his wrist and moved it up above his head.

“Now, now,” he scolded. “It really isn’t fair of me to make you do the work. This situation is my fault, after all, I should be the one to take care of it.”

“Angel, I swear to _someone_ that if you don’t-“ Whatever he was going to threaten broke off as Aziraphale slid forward, Crowley’s cock rubbing suddenly against the fabric-covered crease of his arse.

Aziraphale rolled his hips down. He threw back his head and moaned, exposing the long line of his throat. Crowley wanted to bite it. As it was, he managed to free his pinned hand and get both of his on Aziraphale’s hips. He thrust up desperately and panted.

It wasn’t enough. Aziraphale was gorgeous above him, still dressed in the damned piece of outdated underclothes. But even as Crowley rutted against him, he could tell that it wasn’t going to be enough to make him come. And right now, he _really_ wanted to come.

He scrabbled at Aziraphale’s arse, fingers searching for a button or something that would give, but it was no use. “Fuck,” he snarled. “What the Hell is the point of something being sexy if you can’t fucking have sex in it?”

Aziraphale grinned and leaned low over him. “You think it’s sexy?”

“Yes, fuck, okay?” Crowley grunted, the angle giving him a bit more leverage. “Angel, please, I need-“

“You need to fuck me?” Oh, Lord, the angel was going to talk dirty to him. Crowley was in, well, not Heaven, but he didn’t have a better metaphor. Aziraphale continued, “I’ve gotten you so worked up in my old, out-dated, unfashionable bit of underwear that you feel fit to burst. You’re so hard, darling, I can feel how desperate you are. That thick cock rutting against me, trying so hard to come.”

Crowley groaned. His balls ached. There was too much pressure inside him and no way to release it.

Aziraphale moved his hands to cover Crowley’s, squeezing tight on his hips. “Feel that fabric sliding against you. Not even skin, not even silk, but it has you positively wild. You just need a little more, don’t you? A little more and you’ll be able to come all over me, make such a pretty, dirty mess of me and my undergarments. Just a little more, darling, and _oh!”_

Crowley couldn’t take it. He’d flipped them over and shoved Aziraphale onto his hands and knees. He forced his way between them and grabbed a handful of each of Aziraphale’s thick thighs, shoving them together to squeeze around his aching cock. Aziraphale moaned in surprise and Crowley groaned, fucking into the tight channel he’d made a few more times before he came, pearly white stripes splashing up the fabric covering Aziraphale’s thighs and stomach. Crowley grunted and pulled back, falling onto the bed and sinking into the pillows with a satisfied sigh.

“Fuck, angel,” he mumbled. “That was…fucking Hell, that was good.” He opened one eye lazily. “Need a hand?”

Aziraphale shook his head. He miracled himself clean and then settled on his side, facing Crowley. “I didn’t bother. That was for you.”

“You sure? I’m sure I could manage something.” Although he was feeling rather boneless at the moment. Aziraphale had a tendency to reduce him to liquid.

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale said, with no small amount of smugness. “And I believe I proved my point quite thoroughly.”

Both eyes opened. “Point?”

“That there’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

Crowley groaned, not the satisfied groan of someone who has just gotten off, but the groan of someone who knows he is about to admit that he was wrong. “Yes, fine. There’s nothing wrong with your clothes. Happy?”

“Very. Although I must say, I wasn’t expecting _quite_ so strong a reaction. I’d anticipated a bit more seduction.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say.” Crowley closed his eyes again. “You do it for me, angel. Even when you shouldn’t.”

“Thank you my dear. You, ah, _do it_ for me too.”

Crowley snorted. “Don’t strain yourself. He patted the space beside him. “Come here. I know you want to cuddle.”

Aziraphale shuffled happily into the space indicated. With a thought Crowley’s clothes disappeared, and he turned over onto his side, allowing the angel to spoon him. The nylon of Aziraphale’s stockings rubbed pleasantly against his legs.

“You know,” Crowley said, “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with your wardrobe, but if you’d let me update it just a little-“

“Please don’t ruin the mood, my dear,” Aziraphale said, his breath puffing against Crowley’s neck.

“I’m not saying getting rid of anything,” Crowley reassured him. “I was just thinking. Since apparently even this,” he plucked at one of the tassels on Aziraphale’s thigh, “manages to be attractive on you, I was thinking. If I got you something a little more modern, would you wear it for me?”

Aziraphale considered. “What with the reaction this piece got, I think anything more modern might prove too much for you to handle.”

“Maybe,” Crowley said, thinking back on his earlier reflection about bikinis and personal styles. “But I’d love to test the theory.”

“What sort of modern thing were you thinking?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t like. Something white, with some ruffles. Maybe a pair of those Victoria’s Secret wings?”

“I have real wings. I hardly see the need.”

“No fake wings them. But the ruffles are okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” Aziraphale said. He rested his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder blades. “Now hush.”

Crowley obediently quieted. He didn’t sleep, but as he thought about Aziraphale and panties and how the angel might look in them, were Crowley allowed to dress him up, he might as well have been dreaming.

It was a very good dream. Crowley was looking forward to making it a reality.


End file.
